Facing the Past
by JessPuggy
Summary: After several years of devotion to her studies in Innail, the time has come for Maerad to set out and travel again. It's time to face the past and make peace with her conscience. But wherever Maerad goes, complications are quick to follow.
1. Chapter 1

I debated over whether or not to post this, considering I have so many unfinished stories here… But the plot has been poking me for months now, and I can't take it anymore. It was either this or break the plots neck.

So, anyways. Reviews are great, and the ones that tell me what I've messed up on are even better. Hopefully this doesn't bore anyone to death… I tend to get very wordy now and then.

* * *

Maerad of Pellinor was unable to blink. She was without the ability to look away and, though it was wholly embarrassing, she didn't mind. Her attention was stolen completely, rightly and favorably so.

"Ready?" Cadvan's blue eyes held seriousness, his lips a thin, straight line.

Maerad's head bobbed once, her gaze locked in place, her jaw set with concentration. She didn't trust herself to speak.

Cadvan's hand swept through the air, palm extended downward just above the ground. The motion was one used to polish the surface of a table, with quick, even strokes. He finished quickly and turned to Maerad, raising his eyebrows in a friendly challenge. But she didn't see it. Maerad didn't see anything but the smooth stone before her, and the exceptionally complicated image she clutched in the front of her mind. She took a moment longer, combing over the illustration with painstaking care to notice every detail, before drawing in a deep breath and lifting her hand.

Maerad brought her arm down in the familiar arc, twisting her hand through the air before letting it fall back into her lap. Cadvan watched on in silence. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but he fought it deftly, aware as he was of what Maerad's reaction to such an expression would be.

Several minutes passed before Maerad—eyes dry and burning, lips numb from being pressed together—tore her gaze from the ground and looked unsmiling at Cadvan. "Check it," she said, her tight throat making what was supposed to be a request sound more like a command. Both sets of blue eyes immediately returned to the space in front of them.

Cadvan was the one concentrating now, his lips pursed ever so slightly as he examined Maerad's work. The illusionist swallowed hard and began second guessing herself. Her creation was certainly pleasing to look at, and she was fairly satisfied with it—but fairly satisfied had failed her a lot recently. She contemplated her attention to shadow, to shade. Were the rooftops supposed to be such a rusty color? Surely the clouds were wrong—Maerad always found some way to rearrange their pattern into something from her own imagination, and not Cadvan's.

She was about to admit failure when Cadvan moved, looking up to her somberly. "Go ahead," she sighed, nodding her head in permission, "tell me what's wrong with it."

Cadvan regarded her with badly concealed amusement. "What makes you think that anything's wrong with it?"

"There's always something wrong with it." Cadvan glanced away, and Maerad felt a twinge of annoyance when she realized he was smiling. "Tell me," she repeated.

The answer she received was far from what she expected, and she looked over at Cadvan in surprise—uncaring of his smile now—and asked him to repeat himself.

"You got it right," Cadvan conceded with a chuckle. "A perfect depiction the farmlands about Iledh; I couldn't have done it any better myself."

Maerad felt her lips turn up triumphantly. "Really?" she asked, feeling the serious mood of their game drop away. "What do they make their roofs of down there in Iledh? It looks like clay."

"They aren't made of clay, only coated with it. It aids in keeping their houses cool in the summer, and warm in winter." Cadvan proceeded to inform Maerad about the city she'd never visited, telling her about the school there as she moved her hand through the image, making it fade away gradually rather than all at once.

After three full days of illusionary games and impromptu lessons in the guise of conversation, Maerad found herself struggling to follow along with any subject for long. She was tired of the tiny cave they were in, tired of hearing the constant patter of rain on the cliff face outside. This journey had been much anticipated by both parties involved, and now, less than a week after parting from Innail, it had come down to enduring one of the longest rain storms Maerad had ever encountered. Rain pounded heavily against the outside of their cave for hours on end, forming growing puddles just within the opening of the small enclosure. Despite the recent turn of spring, hail and icy gusts of wind fell upon them in the late hours of the day and remained, as if keeping them company, until streaks of pale light in the sky—barely visible behind nebulous clouds—indicated that it was morning.

The hail had set in again—as predicted by both weary travelers—hours earlier, moments after the final sheen of muted sunlight had disappeared over the western horizon. In defense against the numbing wind, Cadvan had lit a fire. It was the smallest of fires, hardly large enough for Maerad to warm both her hands at the same time, but it took up all the space they were willing to part with. There was barely room enough for one person to lie down curled up in the cave, let alone both of them together.

In the evenings, and also for most of the morning and afternoon, Maerad sat with her leg pressed against Cadvan's, the two of them practically sharing the same lap. Maerad wasn't adverse to the nearness of him; she had, after all, spent the greater portion of her days and nights in Innail without his presence so close at hand. But she was becoming frustrated with what had come to be a very monumental complication in their plans.

Take the Loden Pass from Annar to Zmarkan—how simple it sounded! What wasn't expected was the sudden shift in weather—from fair to dismal—as they crossed over the mountains crest and began their decent into Zmarkan. The storm that hampered them had come from nowhere, forming unforeseen directly over the mountain tops, advancing from gentle rain to a heavy downpour in less time than it took for Maerad and Cadvan to find shelter. The tiny alcove set within two protruding, jagged stones had seemed like the finest of inns when they stumbled upon it three days passed, drenched and shivering.

Maerad glanced at Cadvan, barely comprehending his description of the gardens and courtyards in Iledh over the steady drumming of water against stone. Cadvan, who had that morning looked to her with a kind, yet cautious smile and proposed that the Winter King recognized her presence in his domain and was merely sending them a welcome message.

Maerad had reacted as if he'd told her a joke. She then ignored him for several hours, falling deep into consideration, wondering if Cadvan's observation held any possible truth. It didn't seem possible that Arkan would bother expending so much energy and attention to her; she'd felt that their last meeting—brief though it might have been—had meant a conclusion to her confusing acquaintanceship with the Elidhu. There had been a sort of finality, she'd thought, in the way that Arkan had regarded her that night.

Over four years had passed since Maerad last found herself in the company of an Elemental. She'd given them their song back, and in return they had given her silence. Silence in the absence of their conviviality, and silence within Maerad herself, when she reached for that part of herself that had once been there, but was now unattainable. Of course, not even complete silence had kept apprehension from creeping up in her thoughts as she plotted the journey from her chambers in Innail. It wasn't without unease that she purposefully brought herself and Cadvan into the Winter King's realm. Maerad had weighed the facts over and over and, after bringing Cadvan's opinions into the debate, had determined that what risks there might be were worth taking for her cause.

They weren't traveling just to travel; though Maerad had begun to feel confined within the walls of the school after staying for so long, she had devised this trip with specific intentions in mind. The Loden Pass was an unforgiving path, narrow more often than not and bordered by sheer cliffs that made Maerad's breath catch in her throat when she stepped too near. It was more easily taken with four paws than with two feet or four hoofs, but that option was no longer available to her. She wouldn't have crossed it willingly for leisure, but she would for the Jussack boy called Nim.

* * *

"How long can it possibly go on?" Maerad demanded irritably the next morning. Another night had elapsed and the sun had yet again ascended behind a bleak curtain of clouds. Maerad, who had been awoken by a particularly deafening roll of thunder, was fighting a losing battle against the crestfallen sensation that rose in her chest. The prospect of a fourth day holed up in the mountainside made her heart sink in disappointment.

Cadvan ducked back inside at the sound of Maerad's voice. Behind him, Darsor and Keru munched miserably on a sparse pile of oats. They were kept dry by a moisture resistant charm of Cadvan's invocation. Keeping the animals safe from the weather was accomplishable and easy, but conjuring up extra feed was another thing entirely.

"The mountains here aren't prone to lasting rainstorms this time of year," he replied dismally. "This is an abnormality, which makes it impossible to judge."

Maerad huffed moodily and yanked on her blanket, saving the corner before it dipped into the puddle by Cadvan's feet. Her hair felt like it was all tangled and piled atop her head. She'd slept restlessly, waking every time lightning flashed and carved silver streaks along the backs of her eyelids. Her right arm hurt from where she'd accidentally scrapped it on the sharp inner wall of the cave at some point in the night. She was truly beginning to despise that small space.

"I've never missed sunlight so terribly," she grumbled, perhaps being overdramatic. Both her and Cadvan's pasts were speckled with a variety of unpleasant situations. A bit of rain seemed insignificant when compared with the other, more life threatening scenarios; but Maerad—at that point of time—would have preferred a run in with half a dozen hulls to another day in the cave.

Cadvan laughed darkly, instantly drawing Maerad's full attention. She watched as he shook his head, his expression a mixture of amusement and consternation. He leaned against a smooth patch of wall just within the entrance, not meeting her gaze as he said, "you may want to take that back. We'll both be yearning for dry weather like never before if this doesn't blow over sometime this morning."

Maerad frowned down at her blanket, knowing exactly where Cadvan's thoughts were. They hadn't brought enough supplies to spend a half a week in one place. No one else would be attempting to take the Pass in such weather; the two of them were as well as alone with their horses, with nowhere to attain more feed for the animals, or even a decent quantity of fresh water.

Rainstorm or not, they were going to have to move on.

Outside the cave entrance, the sky was a moving sea of grey and black, darker in some places than others but altogether ominous in appearance. Maerad scowled furiously at the clouds, as though her intentness stood a chance of chasing away what was there. She didn't really expect any results, and the storm didn't disappoint her.

Bad news delivered, Cadvan went back out to speak with the horses, giving Maerad space to eat and prepare for their impending departure. The wind howled audibly through the opening in his absence. The sound was uneven, rising and falling as though the breeze had to catch its breath; it made Maerad feel like the storm was laughing at them.

Rather than sitting around and cursing the storm, which is what she longed to do, Maerad stood reluctantly and began packing their things. They didn't have much out, just the blankets, their damp clothes Maerad had been reluctant to throw straight into a pack, the horse's oats, and a small measure of food. The food she kept out until last, putting it away only after taking out a considerable chunk of bread and a few slices of dried fruit for her breakfast. Cadvan returned and took the packs outside to the horses while she ate.

It was still early morning when they put on their cloaks. Thunder rumbled overhead and rain pelted fiercely against the mountain side. The sounds rang in Maerad's ears, making her teeth grit together as she pulled up her hood and tucked her hair beneath the woolen material. It wouldn't keep her dry for long.

As if he could hear the despondent undertone of her thoughts, Cadvan reached out to touch her shoulder, squeezing gently. She looked at him, soaking up the warmth in his sincere gaze, surprising herself when she actually _did_ feel less frozen.

"We'll take turns calming the wind. Rain isn't so terrible in itself, but the wind…" he trailed off, his look of encouragement faltering. He regained composure almost immediately and assured her that they would be fine as long as they didn't rush or behave rashly, but his hesitance was not lost on Maerad.

"It's better than being blown off the side of the mountain." It was his argument from long before, when they had traveled along the same range of mountains, only in another place and for entirely other reasons. If her memory served her correctly, and she was quite sure that it did, Cadvan had also mentioned something about her body never being found. He was not speaking so bleakly now, but Maerad couldn't halt the shiver of dread that ran up her spine at the recollection.

While she was inwardly uncertain, outwardly she returned Cadvan's sympathetic smile with one of her own and inclined her hand towards the cave entrance. "After you," she said.

One corner of Cadvan's mouth turned up in a crooked smirk and he dropped his hand from her shoulder; it slid down her arm, his fingertips scarcely grazing her skin, and stopped upon reaching her own hand. His warm palm met her cooler one, and Maerad laced her fingers through his almost without thinking. "We'll go together," he said, regarding her with an expression that had little to do with the storm or their circumstances, and much more to do with his hand around hers.

Maerad nodded, completely agreeable, if not a little dazed. The only shivers she felt now were of the pleasant variety. When she stepped out into the storm, it was with a lightened heart and a full reserve of confidence. Cadvan was always capable of bringing out the part of her that was needed for the occasion; and Maerad was assured that as long as he was there for her to hold on to, she could go anywhere, do anything.


	2. Chapter 2

A little rain was a lot more hazardous than Maerad had thought possible. The coarse stone pass gave fairly good traction when dry, but became treacherous and almost too slippery for hoofs to cope with when wet. Water poured down the side of the mountain, flooding the path and rushing down over the opposite edge. The movement of it created a current that drew at Maerad's feet and ankles as she walked, tempting her ever closer to the ledge.

As promised, Cadvan was able to manipulate the wind away from their party. Unfortunately, the lack of a breeze did very little by way of making their task more bearable. Cadvan was only willing to expend a certain amount of energy on weatherworking, which meant that his charm only affected air within a few feet of them. Had he been working with a larger amount of space, the rain hurtling diagonally through the air might have had a chance to slow in decent before striking them, but this was not the case. Consequently, Maerad was harassed by stinging pellets of water for the first hour of the morning. Eventually, though, her body numbed, so that she could no longer feel anything but a dull frostiness through her entire being.

The numbness offered her both advantages and disadvantages. For one, Maerad didn't have to worry about pain when she fell halfway through the morning. Cadvan had rushed to her side and pulled her upright, had fussed over her like she might have done serious damage by the angle at which her leg had struck the stone. Maerad had felt nothing but the slightest pressure. But when Keru's hoof found a patch of loose gravel, causing the horse to yammer in distress and go down on one knee, Maerad's lethargic body was so slow to react that Keru was up and walking off her injury by the time she was turned and poised to help.

There were no signs of an end to the downpour as morning eased into afternoon. Maerad was struggling to walk in a straight line by then, dragging her heavy boot clad feet and silently thanking Cadvan for maintaining the charmed wind on his own. Her soaked clothes clung to her, making every step more uncomfortable than the last. Errant locks of hair stuck to the damp skin on her cheeks.

Luxuries that Maerad had come to know in her previous travels were made impossible by the storm. There were no respites that day, nor were there meals, or unnecessary words exchanged between companions. Maerad's thoughts drifted as far as she dared let them, taking her several leagues south, to the place where her original journey had begun.

It had been a long time since she'd last thought back to her existence as a slave. Unfortunately, avoiding her past couldn't quite seem to make it go away. The memories she carried from her time in the cot would never fade, Maerad knew. She would always be able to recall the pain and embarrassment of lashings received in front of fifty of her laughing peers; there were mornings still when she woke before sunrise and anticipated the familiar bell. And now, she could remember the earliest of her days in the cot, when it rained heavily and the slaves were confined to indoor tasks or just forced to remain within their quarters. Those precious few days that she got to spend with her mother.

That was only in the beginning, of course. Those were the only days that her mother was around.

Maerad was always conscious of how close she was to the cot during her time in Innail. Several times, she'd considered going back to free the others in Gilman's possession, but the idea itself put a bad taste in her mouth. It didn't matter how many times the thought came to her mind; the feeling of dread would not sway with repetition or patience. Maerad wrote her unease off as an unwillingness to bring herself nearer to the Landrost's place of dwelling. Unmade as the Elidhu may have been, she shuddered at the prospect of what lay east of her home.

But sometimes, Maerad wasn't sure if that really was the reasoning behind her reluctance. If it were, would she be so willing to show her face anywhere near Arkan-da? It was true that Nim held a greater bearing over her heart than any of the slaves living in Gilman's Cot. Was it possible, then, that she swallowed the risks that plagued her when considering the other expedition, simply because of who it was for?

Maerad didn't know herself well enough to understand the workings behind her own choices. This was nothing new; but it was something she'd recently begun pushing out of her conscious thoughts. Not even four years at the school of Innail—time spent soaking up more of the Bards ways, taking in knowledge that was rightfully hers, making up for all she'd been forced to miss—could appease the emptiness she felt when she tried to understand herself. She was as much an enigma as before, only now her incomprehension didn't come with a valid excuse. She was Maerad of Pellinor. She was a normal Bard with a gift like any other, which was precisely what she'd always wanted to be. She had access to whatever her heart could desire, and she was _happy_.

The hollowness that clung to her, refusing to let peace settle where it belonged—it was completely without justification. So Maerad treated it as it deserved to be treated, with intentional vagueness, as if there were no problem at all—as it should be. At least, she tried to.

Times like these were the worst. When her mind was occupied, but only dully so; when her body did something she'd prefer to tune out.

Maerad shook herself back into reality, deftly shoving aside concerns for the memories of her dismal past, and her all too confusing present state of mind. Her eyes focused first on the flooded path laid out before them, where they'd already been directed. Slowly, the better to prolong her attentiveness, she expanded her range of recognition.

Pebbles and small stones were sliding down the mountainside and splashing against the wet surface they walked upon. The heavier rocks fell and stayed in place, clinging to the ground like Maerad's feet, but the lighter ones were lost to the makeshift waterfall as it swept over the mountains edge. Every step Maerad took disturbed the smaller stones, forcing them forward in miniature waves before they plunged, inevitably, over the steep ledge.

Lifting her face reluctantly, Maerad blinked water of out her eyes and gazed out towards the horizon. She nearly tripped in surprise.

"Our luck finally shifts," called Cadvan's voice from behind her, as he apparently noticed her brief hesitation.

Maerad would have smiled at his statement, had she not been so cold and saturated that her lips were difficult to distinguish from the rest of her numbed face. Before them the grey and black storm clouds stretched enormously, but no longer indefinitely—far ahead in the distance was pale blue afternoon sky, with just a thin layer of haze to bar the color from perfection.

They did not reach sunlight that afternoon. Instead, they took shelter in a fair sized recess that served to keep their entire party dry. Maerad's logic and peace of mind conflicted strongly with the urge to be off the mountain that night. Her contesting emotions kept her up long after Cadvan succumbed to sleep.

She was letting the storm—letting their entire situation—get the better of her. It didn't matter that she knew agonizing over their lack of fortune would do no good; she couldn't seem to stop herself.

_We should have left a week earlier,_she chided herself. _Then we'd already be off this damned mountain._ She questioned every choice they'd made since leaving Innail. She questioned even the act of leaving Innail itself. Her thoughts were full of varying statements, a whirlwind of regret and hope and frustration. So Maerad didn't react as quickly as she might have in other circumstances when strange, uninvied words bubbled up among all the rest.

It happened out of nowhere, much like the storm that hampered them. Maerad had been thinking about the hail—how glad she was to be sheltered from it, but also how greatly disturbed she was at having to hide out again—when she suddenly thought that she should go home. She hadn't been thinking about returning to Innail before; it was the first time that she'd thought such a thing.

She frowned, forgetting about her feud with the hail. Was she really so weak that she couldn't endure some discomfort for the sake of her objective? Had her time in Innail softened her so much?

No, Maerad knew that it hadn't. She had no desire to give up.

_But you want to go home,_ argued the voice in her mind.

Before she could realize how rediculous it was, Maerad shook her head. Her hair dragged rougly against the wool of her makeshift pillow. These sort of thoughts wouldn't help anything. She felt appalled with herself.

_The north is not for you, child. You should return home. _

Maerad was scowling now. She resisted shaking her head again and sat up, scanning the darkness with appraising eyes. Cadvan's steady breaths were audible, almost tangable in the still air around her. She could hear the horses breathing, too, but more faintly.

They were alone, as she knew they were. But unease flooded into her mind, tensing her muscles and making her thoughts pause in anticipation. Maerad never thought of herself as a child, not in any context.

_Oh, but you are still much a child. I see you now with more clarity than ever, though I was never blind to your inexperience. _The words broke through the silence in her mind, ringing clearly into her awareness. They were not her own, though it very much felt like they were.

Maerad knew the ability to disguise ones intrusion into anothers mind required more than the gift of a Bard. That knowledge set her nerves on edge. It made shivers race over her already chilled skin. Dread and anticipation tightened her throat and her fists, made the muscles in her stomach flutter with tension.

_Am I unwanted in Zmarkan?_ She wondered, both to herself and to the unknown entity that heard her every consideration.

There was a short pause that felt oddly like a sigh. _Say not unwanted. Your presence is insufferable._

Maerad sat up completely now, bracing her hands against the cool stone floor on either side of her legs. There was no longer any reason to deny to herself that she was aware with whom she conversed. The voice was different—veiled to fit in with her thoughts—but the source behind it was all too familiar.

_Insufferable?_ She repeated, confused. She felt bewildered, as if someone were picking on her for no reason.

Soft, bitter laughter resonated through her mind. _Innocence still inhabits you, dear one, as your naivety so clearly demonstrates. _

White hot anger flushed Maerad's cheeks and brightened her vision. She felt the urge to spit on the cave floor and just barely repressed it. Instead of directing Arkan, her thoughts turned in a familiar, acidic direction. _Would the day ever come when others stopped telling her what she was, or how she felt?_ It was certianly a weak point, one which caused her much frustration. Arkan had struck on a very sensitive cord in the already too taunt strings of her thoughts. And he seemed to know it.

_Only those unsure of themselves are swayed by the opinions of others,_ he informed her, something like sweetness in the draw of his words. _Though we both know I speak more than mere opinion. _

_I don't care if you say—_Maerad cut off her own train of thought, biting her lip to regain focus. It would be unwise to intentionally anger or antagonize any Elidhu, especially one so powerful as the one with whom she spoke. She might have been able to meet Arkan on equal grounds in the past, but she was no longer that person. Her gift was insignifigant next to his power.

Another slow chuckle sounded in her mind, this one portraying more amusement than anything else.

_I'm afraid I don't understand,_Maerad thought, swallowing her irritation. _Is this storm of your creation? _

_It is._The simple response came before Maerad had formed her next thought, which she'd intended to follow directly after the first.

_Why?_ She demanded, feeling the cut of betrayal more sharply than surprise.

_I beseech you to turn course, Eldnor. _Maerad shivered when he emphasied her Truename. _I beseech you to return home._

She felt a tug then, as if something had broken loose in her chest and now darted ahead, attempting to drag her along. The way back to Innail rushed through her mind; the muscles in her arms shifted to push herself up.

But no, this was not what she wanted, was it? Had Arkan's words formed a command of power with her Bard name?_ No,_ she thought. _No, I won't. I won't do what you ask._ And he had asked; she was under no obligation to follow his request, even if he had used her Truename. A request was no command, and thus she was bound by nothing.

As soon as she'd come to that conclusion, the pulling in her chest receeded and Innail faded from her thoughts. Relief spread through her body like a rapid acting drug, easing the strain on her tensed muscles. She breathed out once, a short puff of liberation—and then gasped in horror.

Both of Maerad's hands came up to cup the sides of her face as her expression contorted. Panic rushed through her, consuming what momentary security she'd felt like wildfire burning its way through a forest.

No, he hadn't ordered her to leave. But he could. His power over her was virtually without limit.

Maerad didn't know if it was possible to block her mind from an Elemental, but she knew that she had to try. Immediately, she conjured up one of her favorite songs and put all of her focus into hearing it exactly right. The melody could be simple if played by a single instrument; but when a group of skilled musicians came together, it could be weaved into brilliant complexities. It was wild and confined at once; it was order dancing on disorders doorstep. Maerad imagined every part, concentrating to the point of pain.

When she'd gone through what had to be the longest and most complex version of an introductioin the song had ever been put to, Maerad started in on the lyrics. She sang in a whisper at first; the music was so real to her by now that she could actually hear it. She imagined more voices singing with her own: Hem's rougher alto, the soothing tone that could only be Cadvan, and others of those she had sung with in the past.

Time crawled past. Maerad's voice never lifted over a whisper, but the intensity of her task did not falter. The first song ended and she started immediately into another, and then another. There was no way to know if Arkan lingered within her mind, but she had no desire to find out. Nothing existed but the music.

Maerad didn't remember making the decision to lie back down—she couldn't remember deciding to do anything after submerging herself in the refuge of music. It wasn't until the song she held to began to drift apart that she realized she had listened to Arkan's request. He'd asked her to go home, and she'd done exactly that.

That was her last thought before the music faded completley and sleep took her over.


	3. Chapter 3

Maerad was cold when she woke. The air she breathed sent tiny shivers racing through her chest and arms with every inhalation. She sat up right away, still weary, but much too uncomfortable to lie still. Her head throbbed dully in objection.

Around her was the absolute blackness unique to a starless night. Maerad blinked and brushed hair back from her face, confusion seeping into her bleary, waking thoughts. A dim sense of foreboding festered under everything else; it ached, trying to flare up and consume her, but Maerad couldn't place its origin at the moment. She was still caught up on the confusion.

The night before had taken on the qualities of a dream, the details too hazy for her to remember. She could easily judge by the way she felt that sleep had not granted her a lengthy reprieve, but her fatigue was more of the mind than of the body. In fact, Maerad was sure that she had slept long enough to sate her muscles, which had ached and trembled from abuse the night before. Her stomach felt empty, which only intrigued her bemusement further. It seemed to her as if it should be time for breakfast, for daybreak—and yet it was not.

This silent deliberation took only a few seconds, but in that time the restless apprehension that had been spreading through her mind like a disease since waking had now forged its way to the very front of her awareness. Insight set in and Maerad gasped, and then cringed as her lungs burned with the result of sucking in too much freezing air.

"It's stopped raining," said a familiar, if unexpected voice.

Maerad fought the automatic urge to repeat her painful mistake. She turned her head in the direction Cadvan's voice had come from—nearer to the cave entrance—and settled for uttering a barely audible "Oh," which both answered his statement and expressed her alarm. She hadn't yet noticed the lack of rain. The unlikeliness of it unhinged her previous train of thought. "What's going on?" she asked, frowning.

In the lack of rain and wind, Maerad could hear Cadvan shift and stand, and then the soft, stone muffled footsteps that brought him closer to her. She could barely make out his outline when he sat, directly in front of her and no more than a foot away.

Maerad fixed her gaze, knowing she was staring him in the eyes, even if he wasn't aware of it. If he was even facing her, that was. She really couldn't tell.

"Cadvan, what's going on?" she repeated, after an unknown length of silence. It was difficult to judge seconds apart from minutes in such darkness; her muddy frame of mind offered little assistance.

Cadvan ignored her question. "Are you all right?" he asked, using a tight voice that Maerad had learned to identify as a sign of strain on his part. He was holding something back, keeping it from her notice. Was it worry? Worry for her, or worry for the situation? What was the situation?

She had too many questions, and most of them were likely beyond the man sitting before her.

"I'm fine, but something feels off," she answered truthfully. Everything felt off, but Maerad couldn't begin to explain it all to Cadvan.

"Something is off," he agreed, almost absently, before continuing in a more interested tone. "You were thrashing in your sleep." It was a statement, but spoken in a way that demanded an explanation.

Maerad pretended like she didn't notice. "So the rain is gone? Are the clouds gone as well?" She thought that there should be sunlight on the horizon now, were that the case. There was still the diminutive hope that her sense of time was askew. It was faint—made fainter still by the unseasonable cold that spoke of anything other than fair weather—but Maerad couldn't stop herself from clinging to it.

She could almost hear Cadvan's responding frown in the seconds that followed. Hope dissolved into smoke and slipped from her grasp.

"I fervently wish that they were, but nay," he sighed, "I'm afraid our bad luck is not so quick to depart. The clouds are so thick now that not even sunlight can get through."

"Is that why it's so cold?" Maerad asked, already knowing the answer.

"I think that's part of it. The cold air can't escape, nor can it be warmed by the sun. But I think that there are other elements at play here." The implication in his simple statement was not lost on Maerad.

She dipped her head. "I think you're right."

"And what else do you think?" Cadvan asked, keeping his tone gentle. "Will it get worse?"

"I can't be sure," Maerad hedged. "But I don't think we should wait around and see." She was glad of the darkness then. She didn't want to see Cadvan's face as he put together her knowledge with the possible reasons behind it.

"Well, then," Cadvan said, his voice tenser than before. He stood up and Maerad listened to his footsteps pacing away from her. She sat still for a moment longer, until she could hear him speaking quietly with the horses, and then she rose and prepared to leave.

The rain kept away all that morning. The wind was still, the air silent. It was possible for Maerad to close her eyes—not for long, of course, seeing as she was riding Keru down a narrow ledge—and tell herself that everything was well. That was the way it _felt, _or at least, they way it would have felt to most people. But anyone who wasn't blind could see that reality did not harmonize with the other senses. Sight provided the insight one needed to know that everything was not well, not well at all.

It didn't matter how many times Maerad closed her eyes, though. In her case, sight was not the only indicator of danger. She didn't have to rely on her eyes to yell that her the world was wrapped in a blanket of blackness. She didn't need to see to know that the animals who inhabited the rock-strewn mountainside had yet to come out of hiding. Her eyes could have been sewn shut, and Maerad could still taste menace permeating the air; she could smell the fear of bears, of foxes, deer, and the other mountain creatures; she could feel an unnatural stillness that made time seem irrelevant in the most peculiar way. Sound was the second strongest give away, for the the only noises Maerad's attuned ears could pick up were those created by the horses, Cadvan, and herself.

Maerad had to wonder what they looked like. Two separate beams of light rushing along the pass, one bright and one dim, constantly in motion. To anyone watching, they would have been like shooting stars that defied logic and decided to appear during the daytime hours. Shooting stars that could, at any unlucky moment, slip up and become the more deadly falling star.

Of course, Maerad wanted nothing more than to prevent such a thing from occurring. But she still couldn't stop herself from becoming immersed in thought, letting the outside world trickle a little further into complete darkness. She wasn't able to keep her magelight shining as vividly as Cadvan's when most of her concentration was elsewhere. She lingered worriedly around the cause for her enhanced senses: the previous nights conversation with Arkan, who had built in her a sea of knowledge. It was because of him that waves of dread buffeted her every waking moment. She was a craft of disintegrating timber that was now assaulted on all sides, barely able to remain aloft with Arkan's words striving to pull her under.

Was she strong enough to weather the storm alone? Maerad asked herself again and again, for it was a point of uncertainty that she couldn't seem to get around. Cadvan had his own suspicions about the Winterking's part in their recent misfortune, but Maerad wasn't sure if she wanted to rid him of whatever small amount of doubt he might have been fostering. It was possible that the kinder path would be to feign ignorance, rather than revealing the true desperation of their situation.

She was still chewing on the conundrum when Cadvan slowed ahead of her, then turned in his saddle to ask if she was hungry. Automatically, Maerad craned her neck upward to judge the time. She felt silly then, until she realized that she _could_ see the sun; there was a stain on the otherwise colorless sky, a patch of discoloration. Grey instead of black.

Taken aback by her lack of perception, and at the depth of her preoccupation, Maerad could do nothing but blink for the span of several awkward seconds. She was going to drive herself mad with conflicting thoughts, she decided. Ignorance of the world outside herself had to be one of the first steps that led to all sorts of incurable manias. Next, she would be seeing things that weren't actually there.

Stopping that train of thought before it could horrify her further, Maerad shuddered and shook her head, clearing it. As much as she didn't want to consider herself capable of falling victim to such disorders, her decision was made. She would tell Cadvan everything, if only to lighten the burden she carried. He would take on a lot of her worry, and he would make better, less biased decisions. But he wouldn't be pleased she had held onto her secret for so long.

"Food would be good," she answered belatedly, ignoring the look of bemusement her response was met with.

Cadvan didn't speak, but dismounted and began rummaging purposefully through Darsor's saddlebags. Maerad dropped stiffly to the ground, using Keru's bulk to catch her balance. The horse nickered softly, a sound that mimicked laughter. Maerad allowed a hint of a wry grin to touch the corners of her mouth. Staying for so long in one place had stripped her of her endurance. Experience did not save her from feeling like she was but newly introduced to the practice of riding horses. Her body insisted it. She was about to mutter a charm that would allieviate some of her muscle soreness, but caught herself just before the words came out.

If Arkan didn't know exactly where they were, her little act of selfishness would act like a beacon, calling more attention than she felt comfortable with. She wondered if putting up a shield, like the one she had used to escape from the Winterking's fortress, would put the Elidhu at a greater disadvantage. Cadvan int erupted her thoughts before she could come to a real conclusion, but she was already berating herself for not coming up with the idea right away.

"Have you noticed how isolated this place is?" he asked, stepping over with their meager food sack in hand.

Maerad started at the sound of his voice; the silence around them made even the slightest noise seem enhanced. "I haven't seen any animals," she answered, barely above a whisper. It was true, though she hadn't exactly been looking. Taking a share of the tasteless bread, she kept her eyes cast downward, steeled herself, and continued. "But I think we both know why that is. Like us, they can feel that something is wrong." She let her gaze drift up and sighed inwardly when Cadvan dipped his head in agreement, his expression smooth and controlled.

"This isn't natural, I agree. There is some very powerful weatherworking at hand here, and I agree again that we are both aware of the source." He paused to chew thoughtfully on the last of their dried meat. Maerad eyed the leathery square with distaste—she was more than happy to give up her share of the salty, dehydrating excuse for sustenance. Cadvan's eyes brightened with amusement for the shortest of moments, as if he had read her thoughts, and then his expression smoothed back over.

He sighed. "What do you take of this? I half expect we'll be buried in snow by nightfall." His question was spoken dully,as if he didn't expect her to answer honestly, and the following statement sounded like an afterthought meant to lighten the blow.

Maerad bit the inside of her cheek. Would he be terribly angry? Worse yet, would he think she had doomed them by refusing Arkan's request? Tension gathered in her aching muscles as the possibilities continued to rise, unwanted, to the front of her mind. If anything did happen—if the coming storm prooved to be more than they could handle—it would be her fault. She'd received warning from one with powers far exceeding her own, and she'd chosen to disregarded it. The blame for whatever repercussions her decision brought about would rest solely on her shoulders.

The silence must have stretched on for longer than she thought, because Cadvan reached out and touched her arm, drawing her attention. "Maerad?" he asked, expectant.

His touch both calmed her raging nerves and sent guilt flaring up in their place. "I'm sorry," she said, emphasizing the words with more sincerity than the conversation called for. She was apologizing for a number of things, least of which was letting her thoughts drift just then. "I really am sorry, Cadvan. I should have told you as soon as I knew."

Cadvan face didn't take on the signs of confusion Maerad was expecting. He nodded somberly, agreeing with her. "I need to know what it is we face, Maerad. And I can see that knowing it has caused you little joy." His hand squeezed her arm once in comfort before he withdrew it. "Will you tell me?" he asked.

Maerad didn't need any more prompting. She told him haltingly of the conversation she'd taken part in the night before, and what she'd gleaned from the encounter. Cadvan listened without interruption, impassive but for the grim set of his lips. He looked away when she finished, nodding to himself. Then he resumed eating and motioned that she should do the same. They finished their meal in silence.

When the food was gone, Cadvan brushed off his hands and met Maerad's gaze. She looked back at him sheepishly, wishing he didn't have to light the area around them so entirely. Then he wouldn't have seen her blush when she told him what Arkan had said about her, and he might have missed the way her hands shook, both then and now.

"We can still turn back," he said, his voice low, serious.

Maerad's lips parted in surprise. She wasn't sure what she'd expected him to say, but that hadn't been it. "You want to give up?" she asked, hearing the disappointment even as she tried to disguise it.

His expression was guarded. "I'm just making sure that you see what options we have. The further north we go, the more likely we are to tempt something that should not be tempted. I understand your intentions, Maerad, and you cannot say you didn't try. But what is worth this?" He lifted open hands, referencing the darkness beyond the circle of his light. "He is too powerful, even for you."

Every word he spoke was the truth. Maerad still held enough of her sanity to hear practicality in his suggestion, but she felt the sharp sting of betrayal just the same. "I didn't come all this way to _try_," she stated, more sharply than she'd intended.

"Circumstances have changed."

"Not enough to run back home," Maerad disagreed. She was careful to keep her voice low; yelling would only make a conversation into an argument, and she didn't want that. "No ones trying to hurt us, are they? Are there iriduguls lurking around the corner? Have we seen any stormdogs?" The questions came out even, not condescending, but not pleading.

"Not yet. Can you say for certain that such a creature will not come?" Cadvan countered, his tone matching hers.

Maerad sighed and looked away; he already knew that she could not. Cadvan's sigh was quieter, and followed shortly by his voice.

"I've gone on this long because you believe that we should, and because I believe that anyone who is born and raised among violence and strives to be better should get that opportunity." He paused and regarded Maerad apologetically. "And yet, I still think we should return to Annar."

Maerad started to open her mouth in argument, but his hand covered it before she could make a sound. "And even yet," he continued, a small smile on his lips, "I would follow you all the way to the Winterking's fortress, if that were what you desired."


End file.
